The Invisible Guardian. Dolores Redondo

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       5

      Amaia walked slightly distractedly through the old town of Pamplona, making her way towards her house, an old restored building right in the middle of Calle Mercaderes. In the Thirties there had been an umbrella shop on the ground floor and the old sign announcing Izaguirre Umbrellas ‘Hold quality and prestige in your hands’ was still visible. James always said that the main reason he had chosen the house was for the space and light in the workshop, a perfect location to install his sculptor’s studio, but she knew that the thing that had prompted her husband to buy the house in the middle of the bull running course was the same thing that had brought him to Pamplona in the first place. Like thousands of North Americans, he felt an enormous passion for the San Fermín festival, for Hemingway and for this city, a passion that seemed almost childish to her and which he revived each year when the festival arrived. Much to Amaia’s relief, James didn’t take part in the bull running, but every day he would stroll along the eight hundred and fifty metres of the course from Santo Domingo, learning by heart each curve, each stumbling block, each paving stone all the way to the square. She loved the way she would see him smile each year as the festival drew near, the way he would dig his white clothes out of a trunk and would set out to buy a new neckerchief, even though he seemed to have hundreds already. He had been in Pamplona for a couple of years when she met him; he was living in a pretty flat in the city centre at the time and renting a studio to work in very near the town hall. When they decided to get married, James took her to see the house on Calle Mercaderes and she thought it was magnificent, although too big and too expensive. This wasn’t a problem for James, who was already starting to earn a certain prestige in the art world. Furthermore, he came from a wealthy family of state-of-the-art work-wear manufacturers in the United States. They bought the house, James installed his studio in the old workshop and they promised themselves they would fill it with children as soon as Amaia became an inspector on the homicide team.

      It was four years since she’d become an inspector, San Fermín came round each year, James became more famous in artistic circles, but the children didn’t arrive. Amaia lifted her hand to her stomach in a subconscious gesture of protection and longing. She quickened her pace until she overtook a group of Romanian immigrants who were arguing in the street and smiled when she saw the light glowing in James’ workshop between the slits in the shutters. She looked at her watch, it was almost half past ten and he was still working. She opened the front door, left her keys on the old table that acted as a sideboard and went to the workshop, passing through what used to be the house’s entrance hall, which still retained its original floor of large round stones and a trapdoor that led to a blind passage where wine or oil had been stored in the old days. James was washing a piece of grey marble in a sink full of soapy water. He smiled when he saw her.

      ‘Give me a minute to get this great toad out of the water and I’ll be with you.’

      He arranged the piece of stone on a rack, covered it with a piece of linen and dried his hands on the white cook’s apron he normally wore to work in.

      ‘How are you, my love? Tired?’

      He wrapped his arms around her and she felt like there were butterflies in her stomach, as she always did when they embraced. She breathed in the scent of his chest through his jersey and waited a moment before replying.

      ‘I’m not tired, but it’s been a strange day.’

      He drew back enough to be able to see her face.

      ‘Tell me about it.’

      ‘Well, we’re still working on the case of the girl from my town. It turns out that it’s quite similar to another one from a month ago, also in Elizondo, and it’s been established that the cases are related.’

      ‘Related in what way?’

      ‘It looks like it’s the same killer.’

      ‘Oh God, that means there’s an animal out there who kills young girls.’

      ‘They’re almost still children, James. The thing is, the Commissioner has put me in charge of the investigation.’

      ‘Congratulations, Inspector,’ he said, kissing her.

      ‘It hasn’t made everyone all that happy, Montes didn’t take it very well. I think he got quite angry.’

      ‘Don’t worry about him, you know Fermín: he’s a good man but he’s going through a difficult time right now. He’ll get over it, he admires you.’

      ‘I’m not sure …’

      ‘But I am, he admires you. Believe me. Are you hungry?’

      ‘Have you made something?’

      ‘Of course, Chef Westford has prepared the house special.’

      ‘I’m dying to taste it. What is it?’ asked Amaia, smiling.

      ‘What do you mean what is it? Beggars can’t be choosers! Spaghetti with mushrooms and a bottle of Chivite rosé.’

      ‘You go and open it while I shower.’

      She kissed her husband and headed for the shower. Once beneath the water she closed her eyes and let it run down her face for a while, then rested her hands and her forehead against the tiles, which were cold in contrast, and felt the jet of water stream down her neck and shoulders. The day’s events had followed on from one another in quick succession and she hadn’t yet had the chance to weigh up the consequences the case might have for her career or for her immediate future. A gust of cold air surrounded her as James got into the shower. She stayed where she was, enjoying the warmth of the water, which seemed to carry any coherent thought down the drain with it. James stood behind her and kissed her shoulders very slowly. Amaia tilted her head sideways offering him her neck in a gesture that always made her think of the old Dracula films, in which his naïve and virginal victims surrendering themselves to the vampire, would uncover their necks as far as the shoulder and half close their eyes in the hope of superhuman pleasures. James kissed her neck, pressing his body against hers and turned her as he searched for her mouth. Contact with James’s lips was enough, as always, to banish all other СКАЧАТЬ